you begged me for the moon.
forgo the thought, i prayed,
it wouldn't shine as much.
why, then, once i handed you Mars,
your grin fell sour,
and you begged, instead,
for dust?
do my gifts only mean gold and blessings
if you've chosen them?
come, War, is this how you love me?
why is it that, 'neath red and farlight,
you take me with such contempt?
can it not be that i, knowing you,
loving you,
made the better choice
when i chose to ignore you?
is it not like this, time and time again?
come, War, this is how i love you.
and i am sure, far too sure of it.
you could not bare to love me,
had i sat idly and given you every choice
in hand.
your heart is not to be trusted with the path,
and your hands
eager, far too eager,
to be trusted with fire.
you see, now, don't you?
this, War, is how you love me.
